Collection of Ten
by SilverArrow12
Summary: For Another Artist's "A Little is a Lot" challenge. Memories, trivial moments, snapshots, no matter what the name, each second we live adds to our very being. A collection of ten drabbles looking at moments from the Cahill family.
1. Sharpies and StickyNotes

**Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues. This is for Another Artist's "A Little is a Lot" challenge.**

**May 28, 2011. This is 511 words.**

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><p>Amy lay down on her stomach, reading. Dan came up to Amy and stared up at her with an innocent look of curiosity on his face. "Do you remember Mommy?" he asked.<p>

Amy set down her book and looked down at her little brother. Did she remember? Honestly, she wasn't quite sure. She frowned, thinking, when a memory came back to her.

"Sharpies and sticky-notes," she murmured.

"What?" Dan asked."Come here," Amy ordered, patting the floor. Dan for once obediently plopped down next to her. Then she began her tale.

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><p>Amy cracked the door open and snuck a peek at her mother. "Mommy?" Her soft whisper carried across the room. Hope Cahill looked up and held her arms out for Amy. She ran over and gathered herself in her mother's arms. Amy sat there for a long time, drawing comfort from her mother's embrace.<p>

Finally she pulled away and turned to fully look at her mother, who was surrounded by- what was this? - Sharpies and sticky-notes. Little doodles of all colors, shapes and sizes covered the bright squares of sticky paper.

"Do you want to see?" her mother asked. Amy nodded. Grabbing a small pad of paper, Hope flipped through the pages. A purple ball bounced along the small stage before flying off into the distance.

"How'd you do that?" she squealed in awe.

Smiling, her mother reached for a fresh pad of sticky-notes and a Sharpie. "See," she said, drawing a circle. "The ball moves over a bit each time I draw it." She held up the second, third and fourth picture, each sliding over a bit to the right. "And so, when I flip it, the pictures look like they are moving." Again the ball flew across the square of paper before disappearing. Amy clapped her hands together in excitement.

"You want to try?" she asked, offering a purple Sharpie and neon-green pad of sticky-notes. Amy eagerly grabbed the tools and set to work making her very own masterpiece. It soon became clear that it wasn't as easy as her mother had made it seem. Suddenly Amy threw down the papers in frustration.

"It's not working!" she cried out, pouting.

"There, there," Hope soothed. "You can try again. I'll help you." Mother and daughter than began their work. Over the course of the next hour, two pairs of hands carefully crafted their homemade animation. Drawings were made, pieced together, and occasionally, discarded.

Finally, they were done. Amy proudly held up the finished work. She gingerly flipped through the pages. A rough picture of a cat that looked remarkably like Saladin chased a ragged mouse clumsily across the page. The entire thing lasted for all of ten seconds.

"Let's go show Dad!" she shouted impatiently. Amy ran out of the room to show off her creation. That was the last day she and her mother spent together.

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><p><strong>"Sharpies and sticky-notes made up our last memory," <strong>she finished, reminiscing.

Dan grinned up at her. "Sweet," he said. The fire had taken away their parents. But memories still remained.


	2. Finding You

**Disclaimer: I do not own 39 Clues. Thanks to my amazing betas RageRunsStill and RabidNinjaKitty.**

June 13, 2011

686 words

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><p>Fiske and Grace sat in the chalet, sipping cups of hot chocolate. Looking out the window, they could see the delicate white flakes of powder lazily drift down from fluffy clouds. The steamy mugs of creamy goodness warmed their hands. Besides the voices of the two siblings, there was no noise except for the high whistling of the wind.<p>

"So," Fiske said, finishing his explanation, "Half the Cahill cousins have been after me. They think I know something. It's just too much."

"I understand, Fiske," Grace said quietly. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"I was afraid you'd react like Beatrice," Fiske said.

She raised her eyebrows. "Did you really? What did she say?" she asked, leaning in to hear his words.

Her twenty-one-year-old brother grimaced. "She yelled at me," he admitted. "Accusing me of being like 'all those other Cahills',"

Grace rolled her eyes. "As if she hadn't done the same thing," she scoffed. "I'm sorry Beatrice is giving you grief about quitting college," she told the young man whom she considered her son.

"It doesn't matter," Fiske shrugged. He'd known that Beatrice had despised him from the moment he was born. "Thanks for bringing me here," he added.

Grace nodded and murmured "Mmm," before turning to stare out the window. Her eyes held a distant look to them, as if she was reminiscing over old memories. It stayed quiet for a long time, Fiske not wanting to disturb her.

"It's been so long since I was here," she said suddenly, breaking the silence that had descended. "Last time was over twenty years ago, you know that?" she asked him. Fiske shook his head. "Beatrice was raising such a fuss about how she didn't want to come. And less than a year later, Father was gone. I haven't been here since." And then she resumed her staring out the window. Fiske felt awkward just sitting there, not knowing what to say. After a few minutes, Grace got up and gave him a tight smile.

"Sorry about that. I know you didn't want to hear all of that. I promised you a trip to Europe, not a long session of me babbling. Do you want to go skiing?" He nodded eagerly.

A few hours later, they came in, laughing and out of breath.

"You've gotten better," Grace nodded in approval.

Setting his ski boots down, he asked, "So how are your husband and daughter?"

"They're doing great. Hope sometimes asks for you. She calls Beatrice 'scary'," Grace snorted.

"So true," Fiske grinned.

"But I wanted to talk to you about more serious things," she said. "You know the Vespers are becoming restless. The other branches don't trust us."

"You need me here," Fiske finished.

"No, I don't," Grace disagreed. "I would prefer you to stay, but the others won't let up. So I'm telling you something very important. You need to get lost."

"What?" her little brother exclaimed.

"No," she shushed him. "Listen. As long as you stay with me, you'll be a target. The others will try to control you. So you must get lost. You must lose yourself so completely that they will never find you."

"You're letting me go?" he asked, bewildered.

"I know you'll be there when I need it," Grace said. "Fiske, you're like my son. Don't forget that I love you. And when I need you I'll find you."

**"How will you find someone who was never lost to begin with?" he demanded.**

Grace swallowed heavily. "I'll find a way. And here's one more thing." Reaching into her coat pocket she pulled out a small sheet of paper. "Here, you'll need this."

"What is it?"

"Ten digits. Here's the key. It's for a Swiss bank account," she explained.

"Thank you." It was all he could say.

Finally, they reached the end of their trip. At the airport, Grace suddenly found her eyes filling with tears.

"I guess this is good-bye, then," she said sadly.

"When you call, I'll be there" he promised. And then she left. Years later, when she contacted him again, he left. It was a last good-bye.


	3. Cereal and Mud

**Disclaimer: I do not own 39 Clues. **Thanks to my amazing betas RageRunsStill and RabidNinjaKitty.****

June 13, 2011

750 words

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><p>A starch white car stopped in front of a deserted playground. A hassled looking young woman and two children, maybe nine and twelve years old, tumbled out. The young boy was dressed all in black and was bouncing on his heels, clearly delighted. An older girl wearing a backpack trailed behind him, trying to appear invisible.<p>

"Stay here," Anna ordered. The au-pair grabbed Amy and Dan's hands and dragged them over to the dirt playground. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Okay," Amy called after Anna's disappearing back. She turned to Dan, asking, "What do you want to do?" But he was gone.

"Come on," he yelled, running towards the swing set. Amy mutely shook her head and settled down on a nearby bench, pulling a thick book out of her backpack.

"Amy!" Dan gasped, shocked. "We are _finally_ allowed to have fun, and you choose something boring?"

"Reading isn't boring," Amy futilely protested. But Dan was already gone, laughing like a maniac as he climbed up the slide. Rolling her eyes, Amy sprawled out and began to read.

About an hour had passed when Dan returned, to find Amy still extended on the stone bench.

"Amy," he whined. "I want to go home."

"We can't," his sister replied. "Anna isn't supposed to be back for at least another hour. Go back and play."

"But my feet hurt," Dan exclaimed, pointing at his scruffy sneakers.

"Then sit on the bench," Amy suggested. Dan quietly sat down on the bench and Amy went back to reading her book. Less than five minutes later, however, her little brother was pulling the book away from her face.

"Let's play 20 Questions," Dan announced. "I'll go first. **What kind of cereal do you prefer: Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Pops?"**

Amy threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Dan, leave me alone! I want to read. You already know I like Lucky Charms. If you're bored, then read this." She reached into the depths of her large backpack and brought out an old, musty, humongous encyclopedia. Eyes growing wide, Dan edged away from it as if the book might carry the plague.

"I'm fine," he replied hastily.

"Good," his older sister muttered. Suddenly, a drop of water splattered onto the page she was reading. Her head snapped up as rain began pelting down onto the ground. Swiftly shoving her book into her backpack, Amy cringed as the droplets of water began to soak her clothes. Dan, on the other hand, began running around in circles gleefully poking the falling raindrops.

Looking up, Amy saw a mostly dry oak tree. She made a beeline for it. Less than ten steps later, however, she slipped on the slick dirt and collapsed into the mud. Dan doubled over laughing at the sight of his sister pulling mud out of her hair.

"Eww, gross," she shrieked. "Dan, stop laughing!" Her little brother ignored her command. Suddenly he got a glint in his eye.

"You know what I'm thinking?" he asked gleefully. Amy shook her head, droplets of water flying from her hair.

"Mud-ball fight!" Dan yelled.

Amy backed up, far away from her brother. "Oh, no, Dan. Don't you dare." Dan completely ignored her, picking up a glob of mud and lobbing it at his sister. The muck hit her squarely on the chest.

"What?" he asked, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "You've already fallen down in the mud. More mud can't hurt." Scowling, Amy realized he was right.

"You're right," she said. "After all, I'm already muddy. And you're already soaked. I'm sure adding mud to the mixture couldn't hurt." Matching his expression, she leaned down and scooped up her own handful of mud.

"Mud-ball fight it is," she agreed, throwing the ooze at her brother. And it was on. In a matter of seconds, gunk flew through the air, sometimes hitting the target and other times not. They were so engrossed in their war that neither of them noticed that a white car pulled up again by the sidewalk. Anna stepped out holding an umbrella and her jaw dropped.

"Stop it!" she cried. But neither child heard her, caught up in their own private war. Marching over to her au-pairees, she bellowed, "STOP!" And both froze. The mud she was holding dropped from Amy's hands. Two heads turned to stare at Anna.

"Oops," Dan breathed.

"How dare you have a mud ball fight without me?" she asked, looking amused. And so it began again.


	4. Playing Iditarod

**Disclaimer: I do not own 39 Clues. Thanks to my amazing betas RageRunsStill and RabidNinjaKitty. You guys are the best.**

June 20, 2011

744 words

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><p>Reagan grabbed the big Rottweiler and dragged it out of the doghouse. It growled at her, but she simply growled right back. Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Hawleyton ran out of the house. Upon seeing the purple-track-suit wearing girl, she dropped the cup she was holding.<p>

"Madison Holt!" she screamed. "What are you doing?"

But Reagan turned around and jumped over the fence, lifting the dog over her head. Once touching the ground, she took off running, stopping to yell over her shoulder, "It's Reagan!"

Soon, Reagan had gathered all the neighborhood dogs: Petunia the bulldog, Sam the Rottweiler, Bailey the bloodhound, and five others.

"Mom!" she shouted, running inside her house. "Can I borrow the sled?"

"Of course, honey," Mary-Todd called back. In a flash, Reagan had her sled laid out on the side walk. Grabbing the rope, she began to tie all eight canines to the front. After much yelling and tugging, she finally had a dog-sled worthy of her own Iditarod. The dogs had a mind of their own, most of them trying to run in circles, tangling up the thick harness that held them together.

"I wonder if they realize that all they do is run in circles all day," she muttered, yanking on the rope that held the dogs, trying to keep them still. Climbing on the sled, she yelled, "Go!" However, the dogs didn't follow her commands, tripping over each other in their excitement. Suddenly Reagan found herself skidding across the slick ice of February.

"Stop!" she shrieked. Sticking her fingers in her mouth she let out a piercing whistle. The dogs turned to stare at her quizzically.

"Now," she said. "When I say, 'Go', you all need to run. Get it? 'Go!'" The dogs didn't understand much better than last time. But at last she got them to run in a semi- orderly fashion.

"Gee! Haw!" she bellowed, mimicking the motions she had seen on TV. The dogs dragged the sled for a total of half a block, causing people to come out of their houses to stare at Reagan Holt in her purple track suit. Many people noticed their dog in the parade and ran in to call the police.

Just then, Petunia sat down. The whole line ran into her, and they all ended up in a crumpled mess. Picking herself off the floor, Reagan began yelling at the bulldog.

"You stupid dog!" she screamed. "You were supposed to run! Why didn't you do it? Now my whole race is ruined, and it's your entire fault!"

Suddenly sirens began whirring in the distance. A police car stopped and a fat man stepped out, looking irritated.

"Stop this instant!" he shouted. But Reagan didn't hear him. He jogged over to where she was standing and lifted her off the sled. Nodding to his partner, he said, "Try to gather up all the mutts. The owners will come for them." Then he turned his attention to the kicking, flailing girl.

"Stop it," he said harshly. Reagan glared at him and stopped. He set her down. "Now, tell me why you stole all these dogs."

Reagan grinned. "I'm recreating the Iditarod!" she exclaimed. "Look! I have a sled and everything! It would have been great if Petunia hadn't ruined the whole thing."

The police officer did a double take. "You are… recreating the Iditarod?"

Reagan rolled her eyes. "Yes. It's an old family tradition. And when I grow up, I'm going to compete in it!" It took a minute for the police officer to completely digest that.

"Ah, yes, but you see, you are not allowed to take the dogs off other people's property. And the streets are a completely inappropriate place to host such an event. Young lady, what is your name?"

"Reagan Holt," she smiled. The police officer groaned. Of course it would be one of the infamous Holts.

"Where do you live?" he questioned.

"Right down the street," she replied, pointing at the house.

"Then I'll have to tell your mother about this stunt that you pulled, and then you must return all the dogs to their rightful owners." Reagan sullenly nodded.

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><p>"Excuse me," he asked, knocking on the front door. Mary-Todd answered.<p>

"Hello. My name is Officer Farmer. Your daughter, Reagan-" Suddenly Reagan cut him off.

"I recreated the Iditarod, Mom!"

"Oh, that's lovely!" her mother said. "It's a family tradition, you know," she told the officer.

"Yes," Officer Farmer muttered. "So I've been told."


	5. Smarter and Prettier

**Disclaimer: I do not own 39 Clues.**

**June 27, 2011**

**419 words**

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><p>To a normal person walking down the street, a war might have been occurring in the park. It certainly sounded like one. The loud screams and shouts could have been heard from miles away.<p>

But what was really happening was that Reagan and Madison Holt were having a fight. Admittedly, fights between the Holts were just as scary as any war. Anyone with half a brain knew to stay as far away as possible when one happened to break out.

It had all begun when Madison had seen her sister's profile on CliqueMe. After reading it, she had dragged Reagan down to the park to announce her anger to the world. One thing led to another, and soon they were in the middle of an all-out fist fight.

"I so did not say that!" Madison screamed at her twin, dodging a punch aimed at her face.

"Who cares?" Reagan shouted back, tackling her sister. "I'll tell everyone you did!"

The fight wore on until neither girl remembered what the original argument was.

Suddenly, Reagan slipped and fell down. Seizing the opportunity, Madison sat on Reagan's head. She screamed, but it came out as a muffled whine.

"Let me go!" she shouted. Her sister squeezed her head to the ground, digging her face into the earth.

"Do I get to win?" Madison asked her sister, pushing down a bit harder.

Reagan said, "Just let me up!" She squirmed, trying to escape, but Madison had her pinned flat.

"Tell me," Madison prodded, enjoying keeping her sister at her mercy.

"Fine! You won! Now let me up!" she demanded. Madison stayed for a few more moments before finally standing up. Reagan flew off the dirt in a flash, standing up on her feet before Madison could do anything else.

"What does it feel like to lose?" Madison asked her sister.

"**I may be a loser, but I feel like a winner**," Reagan shrugged. "I'm still the smarter and prettier twin," she finished, taunting her sister.

Madison grinned. "Does that mean you want to go again?"

"Bring it on!" Reagan challenged. And then they were at it again.

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><p>The next day, there was a change to Madison's profile.<p>

"I may be smarter, but Madison is stronger, faster, and a better fighter." ~Reagan Holt~

Reagan stormed into her sister's room. "I didn't say that!" she protested.

"Too bad," Madison smirked. "I'm still right!"

"Really," Reagan responded. "Prove it." And with her words, she launched herself towards her sister. This time, she wouldn't lose.


	6. Fairytales

**Disclaimer: I don't own 39 Clues.**

**This is the sixth prompt. This is 400 words.**

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><p>Olivia stared at the worn table, eyes not truly seeing it. Memories fluttered through her head. Memories now gone, shattered.<p>

**"I just wanted a happily ever after. Was that too much to ask for?"** she whispered softly. Apparently it had been too much.

Olivia put her hand to her stomach, rubbing the place where her fifth child was. The last of her family.

Her husband was dead. Her children were gone, scattered over the globe, split over the clues. Always the clues. This child she would raise differently. She would reunite the family that had fallen apart.

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><p>"Nothing's more important than family, Madeleine," she whispered to her small child. "Never forget that."<p>

And Madeleine, in her child-like innocence, smiled back at, and said, "And my family's you. No one is more important to me!"

Olivia managed a bitter smile at her child's words. "Of course, sweetheart. Now tell me the three things I told you."

She barely listened as her daughter dutifully recited what she had already learned by memory.

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><p>Her heart was heavy as she wrote the letter, laying an end to the dreams that had been with her since the day her family had died. She clung to a last and final hope that one day, all of them would finally be together in heaven, a better place. Gideon would be waiting for her there. And she could finally get the forgiveness she had sought for years.<p>

"What are you writing, Mother?" her daughter asked, coming over to their table.

"A letter, my dear."

"To who?"

"To anyone who might care to read it."

"Then may I read it?"

"Some day, Madeleine," Olivia said distantly.

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><p>Finally, she had her peace. Her husband smiled at her from where he stood, among the clouds.<p>

"Olivia," he called to her. Smiling like she had not done for 20 years, she followed him.


	7. The Catfish Hunter

**Disclaimer: I don't own 39 Clues.**

**This is the seventh prompt, and the drabble is 439 words.**

**This is the scene in Black Circle, where Dan yells, "Irina, not the Catfish Hunter!" in his sleep.**

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><p>Horrified, Amy and Dan looked up at each other.<p>

"We've got to get out of here," Amy said nervously.

"Definitely. Nellie, we've got a change of plans. We're moving to a different place."

"Why?" the au-pair asked them.

"Madrigals," Amy whispered.

Nellie looked at her. "You mean the scarier, more secretive branch of your dysfunctional family? The one that the man in black might be part of?"

Dan nodded. "Which is why we've got to get out of here.

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><p>"I really hope the Madrigals don't follow us here," Nellie yawned, collapsing onto the bed. She dropped her bag and her wearily kicked off her shoes. Within seconds she was asleep.<p>

"Me too," Amy said. She still had a look of terror on her face.

"Well," Dan muttered, "I don't care if they come for us, as long as I can get some sleep." He, too, threw himself down onto a bed. It wasn't long before he slept, and began to dream.

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><p>He was sitting in their house in Boston, watching cartoons.<p>

"Boring," Dan grumbled. "There's nothing good on here."

In his dream he suddenly heard the sound of a rip coming from his bedroom and went to investigate.

Irina Spasky, their clue-hunting rival, stood in his room, holding his binder full of baseball cards. Already two lay ripped to pieces on the floor. And in her deadly fingernails, she held-

"NOO!" Dan cried in horror. "Irina, not the Catfish Hunter!"

Smiling in her sinister way, Irina held up the precious baseball card and shredded it between her long fingernails.

He lurched forward, determined to stop her, when she held up five more of his most important cards. Suddenly, a fire blazed in front of her, and Irina held out the cards mockingly over the flickering flames.

"If you so happen to take one more step, I will burn all of your baseball cards right now!" she shouted to him.

Dan still ran forward, hoping to save his precious baseball cards.

Irina dropped one into the burning fire. "Stop where you are!" she commanded. And then Dan was frozen, unable to move or scream as Irina Spasky burned all of his baseball cards one by one. And the last card to fall into the pit of hell wasn't a baseball card at all. It was Amy, shaking him and telling him to wake up.


	8. Ballet

**Disclaimer: I don't own 39 Clues**

**This is the last prompt. 570 words.**

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><p>Reagan laced her ballet slippers, her hands trembling slightly. She nervously swallowed, wondering if she'd made the right decision in inviting her family to their performance. Clasping her hands together, she prayed that they wouldn't embarrass her too badly. Or, rather, she wouldn't embarrass herself in front of them.<p>

"Are you alright there, Reagan?" her teacher asked.

"Fine," she automatically responded.

"Well, then, hurry up. You're going to be up on the stage soon."

Just then Sarah Farmer flew over, grinning widely. "How's it going, Reagan?"

Letting go of the satin laces, Reagan threw her hands up. "Why does everyone keep on asking me that?" she exclaimed, looking irritated. "I'm fine!"

Sarah immediately backed up, raising her hands in surrender. "I was just asking. Sorry," she said hastily. After a moment of awkward silence, she asked, "Do you need help with that? Or do you want me to help do your hair?"

"I don't need help, Sarah," Reagan snapped. "I don't need anyone's help. Not with my slippers or with my hair. Not with anything."

Sarah stared at Reagan for a moment before frowning a little. "Everyone needs help at some part of their life, so what makes you think you're different?" the older girl asked.

Reagan thought about this for a second. "I'm a Holt," she said loudly. "I never need help."

"Do you really believe that?" Sarah asked her, looking skeptical.

"Of course I do," she protested weakly. The other girl raised her eyebrows.

"Fine," Reagan grumbled. "I _almost_ never need help. But don't tell Dad I said that," she suddenly added, looking panicked. "He'd kill me."

"So this is what this is about," Sarah realized. "You're afraid of what your family might think."

"Have you met my family?" Reagan asked.

"Oh. They don't like you taking ballet?"

"If I mess up out there, Madison's never gonna let me forget it, and Hammy's going to laugh at me until the world ends. I think I'd rather stay in here."

"They'll be proud of you," Sarah reassured her. "You're the best in our class. When you get out there, just let your body take over. It'll know what to do."

Reagan looked up, feeling slightly better.

"Can you help me with my hair?" she asked. "I'm not even half-ready to go on the stage. I can't make my family proud if I'm not there," Reagan grinned.

Sarah moved over and began to tie up Reagan's hair.

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><p>Out on the stage, Reagan felt a peace. She had done this millions of times in class. She could do it now. When the curtains opened, she did as Sarah had said and allowed her instinct to take over and guide her through the entire routine. The entire act passed in a blur.<p>

When the curtain closed Reagan collapsed in relief. She'd done it!

"That was amazing, honey," Mary-Todd praised. Eisenhower nodded gruffly, silently agreeing with his wife's sentiment.

"It would have been even better if the girl next to you hadn't screwed up," Madison added snidely.

Reagan rolled her eyes, but she was grinning widely.


End file.
